Magnetic Pull
by Bri-chan
Summary: As much as he doesn't want to, Mohinder can't resist Sylar's pull. [SylarMohinder]


It was a long elevator ride to the roof. Along the way, Mohinder devised in his mind exactly what he wanted to say. The words were strong and menacing.

When the metal doors opened and he walked out, all those words evaporated. On the other side of the roof was a tall figure, clad in black, facing away from him. Even at this distance, Mohinder knew exactly who he was. Sylar.

Against his better judgment, he slowly approached the man. He knew that he should've just turned around and left, should've never come in the first place, but Sylar was a magnet, and he couldn't fight his pull. The only noise came from his footsteps and the faint bustle of cars stories below.

"Mohinder. What a surprise," he said suddenly, turning to face him. The abrupt sound unsettled Mohinder more than he would ever admit, though Sylar could tell because he was smirking at him. "Did you come to stop me? You must know that you'll fail," he said, taking glee in taunting him.

"I—," he began, then stopped. What _was_ he here for? "Are you seriously planning on exploding?" he asked instead.

Sylar grinned. "It's a part of my destiny. I can feel it."

Mohinder's heart seemed to drop to his stomach. He suddenly recalled that desperate, anguished phone call he had received. "Then the phone call…," he trailed off, mentally adding, "was a lie" to the end. Another lie. He kept falling for them, kept wanting to believe… but why?

His smirk only seemed to widen. "That was before I realized my destiny."

There was that word again. Destiny. It was making Mohinder sick. He couldn't stop thinking, though. "What if" scenarios were racing through his mind. "If I had helped you when you called…," he faltered, wishing that he had just kept his mouth shut but he still wanted to know, "Would you still be doing this?"

Sylar seemed to ponder this while staring intently at him. His lips then curled into a smirk, but it wasn't like his other ones – this one was smooth, and sensual, and Mohinder gulped without realizing it.

He stepped forward, invading his personal space. "You want me to say no, don't you?" He raised his hand to touch his face. Mohinder flinched, but he didn't pull away. "You want to be able to save me." His fingers softly ran down his cheek, and Mohinder's breath hitched. He leaned in, so that his mouth was hovering over Mohinder's ear. His breath was hot against it. "Maybe you could've."

Mohinder could almost hear his own heartbeat, so it must've been like a siren to Sylar. His breath was growing shallow and – dammit, he wasn't supposed to be so turned on by this simple contact. This was so wrong, he thought. His mind kept chanting that, even as he turned his head to face him (to stop feeling his breath on his ear, he told himself). Their lips were scant inches apart. Wrong, wrong, wrong, and then Sylar kissed him.

Later, Mohinder wished that he had pulled away in disgust. Instead, he had immediately returned the kiss, almost feverishly. His lips were softer than he (thought, fantasized) would've guessed. Their stubble rubbed against their skin, but the scratchiness only heightened the pleasure. There was no gentleness between them; Sylar bit down on Mohinder's lower lip and he gasped against his mouth. It still stung when Sylar snaked his tongue between parted lips.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, those were only words now, with no meaning.

As tongues slid against each other, Mohinder wrapped his arms around Sylar's torso, pulling the lithe body against his, and he marveled that someone as cold as Sylar could feel so warm. Their tongues were now in a battle for dominance, a battle that Mohinder was destined to lose, but it was too arousing for him to care. Sylar's hands were moving all over his body, and through his clothes, his touch burned his skin.

Suddenly, Sylar retreated, and even before Mohinder could whimper at the loss, his mouth was wet and hot against his throat. He sucked hard enough to bruise, and Mohinder let out a moan, his fingers digging into Sylar's back.

"Mmm, you're vocal," Sylar murmured against his neck, "I wonder, how vocal are you in bed?"

His words brought Mohinder back to reality. Bed. Sylar. _Wrong._ He tried to step away, but Sylar grabbed his hips and kept him still. He stood up fully and pouted, though the emotion behind it was false. "What? You're suddenly not interested? You're such a cocktease, Mohinder," he drawled.

Mohinder glared at him, as icily as he could, to disguise the residual heat in his body. "That was a temporary loss of sanity," he said, in a cold detached voice, "It was disgusting." Maybe if he said it aloud, he could believe it.

Sylar saw right through it. "Disgusting? Really? I think your body contradicts you," he said, and to prove his point, he shifted his knee up slightly against the growing bulge in his pants. Pleasure rushed through him, and he groaned throatily. He bit his lip to try to stop it but that failed. At Sylar's responding chuckle, a flood of hatred filled Mohinder, but it wasn't enough to quell his lust for the serial killer.

"Face it, Mohinder. You want me. You want to save me." One of Sylar's hands started sliding up Mohinder's shirt. "But it's too late. You can't save me." He leaned in to whisper, "I don't need to be saved." He pinched his nipple. Mohinder hissed sharply, and Sylar smiled. He then let go of Mohinder and stepped away. "So go."

Mohinder stared blankly for a moment, puzzled by the change. Then he grew angry. "And just let you explode? I think not!"

Sylar laughed. "And how do you plan on stopping me? Leave, Mohinder. Go somewhere far from here, so you won't get caught in it."

That sounded somewhat like kindness, which was immediately suspicious. Mohinder had to ask, "Why?"

Sylar raised an eyebrow. "I don't actually want you dead. But apparently, you do."

Mohinder tried to ignore the twisting in his stomach in response to this sentiment. The last thing Mohinder needed was to think that Sylar actually cared for him. "And if I stayed?"

Sylar laughed again. "Oh, did you think that you had a choice?" He demonstrated this by lifting him up in the air with telekinesis. "It's just easier if you go willingly."

Mohinder was _not_ a fan of heights, especially after the last time Sylar had levitated him. The thought of being levitated to a far distance disturbed him. "Fine, I'll go!" he declared

He tilted his head and considered that. "No, I don't trust you," Sylar decided. "But before you go…." He lowered Mohinder and kissed him again. This kiss was different than the other one, however. It was softer, gentler, and Mohinder couldn't help but respond to it. He knew that it meant something, though it would be dangerous for Mohinder to try to figure it out.

Sylar broke it and said, "Hope you like New Jersey." Then Mohinder was up, high in the air, flying away at a high speed. It was utterly frightening for him, yet he kept his eyes open out of fascination. A few minutes later, he was landed gently in a place that he didn't recognize at all.

He mentally cursed at Sylar, in every language he could think of, and then some he made up. Once he calmed down, he reflected on the kiss. Of course it was dangerous, mentally, emotionally. But Mohinder was attracted to danger, and Sylar was the most potent magnet.


End file.
